


Deviant High

by kuroshit



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:02:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1424428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuroshit/pseuds/kuroshit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles Xavier recently moved to Arizona with his mother due to parents having finally finished a particularly ugly divorce. Now he needs to attend the local high school- something that really isn't spectacular or eventful...at least this is what Charles expected his new life to be like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deviant High

**Chapter 1**

                Charles woke up when the heavy wooden door to his room was opened slowly and soft steps approached his bed.

"Master Charles, it is time for you to stand up and get ready for school," the soft voice of a maid said. Charles nodded.

"Thank you Marcie."

"Would you like the usual for breakfast?" Charles sat up, stretched and nodded.

"Yes please." She nodded, bowed slightly and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Marcie was to him what came closest to a mother; she cared for him is he was ill, woke him up in the mornings, made him breakfast and dinner, saw him off when he left for school. His biological mother (she was nothing more to him than the person he got half of his genes from) had never cared much about her son growing up, he thought bitterly. Charles let his gaze wander around his room, it was a sterile white with elegant metal furniture and it had large windows that granted a beautiful view over the vast English-style garden. Still brown packing cases were stacked in the corners and in front of the empty shelves; they had yet to be unpacked, but Charles couldn't bring himself to simply accept that this now was his home. Two weeks ago he had still been in their manor in England, packing these boxes and hoping that his mother would just call off the moving of houses to the U.S., but apparently the desperation to get away from his father was big enough for drastic measures to be taken.

                Charles got up and walked over his bathroom, undressing and stepping into the shower. As the hot water ran down his skin, he continued his train of thought. It had all gone so quickly; a month before they actually moved, his mother had told him that they would in fact be moving to some small town in America and that he would attend the local high school, because getting into a private school in the fucking middle of the year wasn't possible. Charles punched the wet tiles and pain flared from his fist up his arm. Yes, he had been forced into completely new life in a matter of weeks. Charles had considered to stay with his father, but decided against it after getting to know his father's new fiancée- she was an absolute slut and he couldn't stand her fake smile or he fake kindness. So he had moved with his mother, taking his clothes, his most treasured possessions and of course Marcie. Marcie had been relieved to be allowed to stay with him.

Charles stepped out of the shower, dried himself off, finished the other bathroom business, got dressed and went down the stairs to the large kitchen. Marcie smiled kindly at him when he walked in and sat at the table.

"Here you go," she said and placed a large plate with toast, a slice of butter, some marmalade and some fruit slices on it in front of him. The cup of tea followed suit and he smiled at the blonde maid

"Thanks. I guess my mother won’t join us?" He asked as Marcie sat down with him. She shook her head.

"No Master Charles. Your Lady Mother is at the tennis club. She told me to wish you a nice first school day." Her mind told Charles something else, but it was no surprise to him. An image of his mother, blond hair tied back and dressed in a white tennis outfit with a sports bag in hand, standing in the foyer and coldly informing Marcie of her duties was what Marcie thought of in this moment. Charles could read other peoples’ minds and could also use telepathy, but he hadn’t tried it out often. Charles didn’t know why he was different, but he was sure it was due to gene mutations and he was positive that he couldn’t be the only mutant (he had decided that the name was suitable). His thoughts returned to the breakfast table.

"She did not. She doesn't care about stuff like that," Charles replied, not looking up and taking a bite of his toast. Marcie looked at him apologetically.

"I am so sorry." Charles shrugged and waved it off.

"Don't worry. It would have been a surprise if she had cared. I'm used to it." He finished his breakfast in silence and hurried up to his room to get his school stuff while Marcie cleaned the kitchen. When he came back down, the maid was standing in the foyer, a small packed lunch and a bottle of water in her hands. She handed it to Charles, smiling softly and he smiled back while stuffing it in his shoulder bag.

"I have arranged for your new driver to drive you to school," she informed him, but Charles shook his head.

"I'd rather not make it too obvious on the first day of being in a new school that I'm a rich kid. I'll just walk, it's not far." He had in fact memorized the map of the whole neighborhood- high school included. Marcie nodded and he walked out of the front door, nodding politely at the waiting driver who glanced at him confused when he didn't approach the black Mercedes limousine. Charles counted on Marcie to explain matters to the driver, whose name was Brian, as he just found out after taking a quick look around his mind: single, no children, a small apartment, rather a nice guy.

 

                He walked out of the driveway, the warm Arizona desert air blowing through his blue shirt and messing up his brown locks. His bag hit against his thigh with each fast stride he took and added a rhythm to his steps. Fortunately, the way to school wasn’t far, as the heat was beginning to get on his nerves and small beads of sweat had formed on his forehead. He wiped them away with the back of his hand and looked at the school with hoards of kids in front of it: it was a square, ugly brick building with a sign informing students and visitors that this spectacular building was the “Deviation High, home of the Raging Lions”. Interesting name Charles thought and tried to blend out the many voices that came crashing over him. Too many people! Too many thoughts! Too many emotions! A headache was slowly approaching and Charles quickly pulled his mental barricade around his mind, stopping the voices and leaving him to his own thoughts and emotions. He felt surprisingly calm for the fact that he was about to go to a new school where he knew nobody and felt like the foreigner he was. And only he knew how much of a foreigner he actually was, because how likely was it that there were others like him at this shit school? He didn’t rule out the chance completely, but he thought it was ridiculously small.

                Sighing, he made his way past a group of nerds, then past a group of jocks and then he saw one particularly ugly and large jock repeatedly kicking a boy about his age, who was curled into a ball on the concrete. Charles could’ve just turned a blind eye and walked on, but he stopped in his tracks and pretended to look at a massive cactus while placing his pointing and middle finger against his temple and searching for the mind of the jock. When he found it, he was appalled by the personality of the jock: cruel, with a strong liking in watching the girls shower in the changing rooms. Restraining himself from making the jock go search for a scorpion to eat (which would very likely end with the scorpion stinging him and hopefully killing him), he simply implanted the desire to go back to his jock friends and leave his victim alone into the jock’s dull mind. Giving the defenseless boy one last kick in the ribs, the jock turned away and walked over to his laughing, bulky friends. Charles hurried over to the boy with chocolate brown hair, who was slowly uncurling himself and sat up slowly, wincing with every move of his upper body. Blood was trickling down his chin and dripped onto his grey shirt. Charles took another step towards the boy. Pain, anger and resignation were the feelings dominant in the boy, whose name was Erik. Erik Lehnsherr, German, 17 years old, orphan. Compassion flooded through Charles and he crouched down next to Erik.

“Are you alright?” He asked. Ugh, very smart question Charles. He’s just been beaten by a jock, of course he isn’t alright! Erik looked up, surprise and confusion flashing over his angular face and then it went completely blank, not even his grey eyes displaying any emotion. He looked down and wiped the blood originating from his split lip away with the back of his hand. Erik tried to stand up, but was still wobbly on his legs and so Charles quickly reached out and grabbed Erik’s arm to support him. Erik glared at him and pulled his arm away. Swaying slightly, he got up completely and walked away towards the building’s entrance. Charles stood up, confused about the abrupt departure of the boy, and his eyes followed Erik until he vanished in the crowd.

                Erik seemed like a genuinely interesting person and during the few milliseconds it took him to read Erik’s mind, Charles consciousness had grazed something, cold and hard in his mind, just like metal. It had blocked the rest of Erik’s mind and seemed solid and impermeable, impossible for Charles to breach if he didn’t want to disrupt the flow of Erik’s thoughts. Charles could’ve read his mind, but a person’s mind was a private place, an asylum and at times a very dark place to be and he preferred not to do it, except to learn some basic facts like name and age about people he just met. Even telepaths had to have some sort of moral. His thoughts wandered back to the barricade in Erik’s mind and Charles didn’t even notice that he was standing in front of the receptionist’s desk until her high voice ripped him out of his thoughts.

“Can I help you?” She asked and looked at him expectantly.

“Yes,” Charles answered smoothly, “I’m Charles Francis Xavier and I was told to pick up my time table- it’s my first day here.” He smiled at her and she flashed him a smile back, her perfect white teeth in stark contrast to her deep red lips. She had pale skin and her pretty face was framed with intense red, wavy curls. For a receptionist she was exceptionally beautiful.

“Ah yes right. You’re on my list.” She reached across her desk and took a stack of papers and a key out of a folder and handed Charles the items. “Here you go. It includes your timetable, a map of the building, school rules and a list of materials you need for each lesson. I recommend you buy them today so you are fully prepared tomorrow. Your locker is on the first floor: number 16. Your first lesson is Biology, which is in room 101- up the stairs and the first room on the right-hand side.” Charles nodded and slipped the key into his jeans pocket.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and Charles picked up a weird vibration from her thoughts and when his mind grazed hers, his eyes widened. She just continued to smile at him. She was a telepath as well! He bit his tongue in order to not shout out in surprise and hurried up the stairs. What the hell? How likely was it to meet a telepath in this school? Charles calculated the percentage: it was ridiculously small. First Erik with the metal wall in his mind and then the receptionist! This really was uncanny. At the top of the stairs he bumped into somebody tall and looked up: a teacher. Great. His first day and he had already bumped into a teacher and bloody hell it felt like running against concrete. “Shit!” Charles muttered and rubbed his head.

“Watch it, boy. Both your language and where you’re walkin’,” The teacher told him off with a grumpy look on face. His short brown hair was styled into something slightly resembling a wolf’s ears and sideburns framed his jaw and chin.

“Sorry,” Charles replied and hurried past the teacher; the students were already disappearing into the classrooms. He managed to slip into the Biology room just before the teacher closed the door. She looked at him slightly confused and Charles understood that she didn’t know who he was. “I’m Charles Xavier. I’m the new student. I’m supposed to have Biology Higher Level now- I hope this is the correct classroom?” Her face lit up with understanding and she gave him a smile.

“Yes, yes sure. My name is Ms. Munroe. The only free seat is at the back next to Erik.” She motioned to the back and in fact it was Erik who was sitting there, a big bruise had already formed around his right eye and he wore a disgruntled expression. Charles tried to keep a nonchalant expression on his face as he walked over to the desk and sat down, dropping his bag on the floor and taking a deep breath. “Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself?” Oh great, was this pre-school? Charles sighed and spoke up:

“I’m Charles Xavier, I’m 16 and I just moved here from England.” He looked at Ms. Munroe. She seemed satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> okay thanks for reading^^ so um this is more like a mere side project of mine and i'm really not sure how regularly i will be able to update this little fic (i'm currently doing my IB)


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